


@JohnLaurens, and other inadvisable tweets

by ataratah



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5467346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ataratah/pseuds/ataratah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For TwistAndShout: a happy modern AU featuring video games, couch surfing, and a flagrant abuse of social media.</p>
            </blockquote>





	@JohnLaurens, and other inadvisable tweets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwistAndShout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistAndShout/gifts).



> Thanks go to [reflectedeve](http://reflectedeve.dreamwidth.org/) for an awesome beta job, and for using Chernow to keep me as historically faithful as I would let them!

The battered colonial town seems quieter now, after the first skirmish died around the barricades at the end of the single main street, but John doubts the fight is really over. He ducks around a corner, back tight to the wooden siding of the small tavern, and begins making his way back to his team. Then a bright flash of red draws his eye, and he sees a single redcoat, bayonet drawn, sneaking up behind Alex. He's already too near Alex, and John is too far, but he has one ball left in his musket, one shot, before he has to reload. He can't waste it. He crouches down, breathes in, aims - the redcoat draws back his arm to stab at Alex with the bladed end of the bayonet - and John fires. 

The bullet, loud and shocking, hits the soldier right between his shoulders and he falls. Alex jerks around, finally, "fuck, that was close," he says, coming over to stand by John.

"Maybe if you spent less time strategizing, and more time trying to survive, I wouldn't need to save your ass every five minutes," John shoots back, his heart still racing a little with adrenaline.

Alex snorts, "my strategies are what allows us to take back an entire town with a team of four!"

"Sure, man, whatever helps you sleep at night," John says, and takes the opportunity to reload his musket, "Let's go find the others, I think they're clearing the north end."

They take out two more redcoats between them before they find Hercules and Lafayette.  
Hercules cries out, voice crackling over the headset, as soon as he sees John and Alex, "we won!" 

Behind him, Lafayette sights down his musket and shoots another redcoat, " _now_ we've won," he adds, "this checkpoint is totally cleared, we should be good to pick up again tomorrow."

"Thank fuck," Hercules says, "I have to go into work in an hour."

"It's 11 at night, man," John says blankly. What kind of tailor goes into work at midnight?

"Are we absolutely sure he doesn't work for the CIA?" Alex says, leaning towards John, putting his hand over his mic, so the other two men, off in their own apartments, can't hear them.

John shrugs. He's been in Britain getting his graduate degrees in political science and history, and it had been a lot easier to miss the eccentricities of his friend's work schedule when he was overseas.

Alex frowns, and takes his hand off the mic, "do you work for the CIA?"

"Fuck the CIA, don't be insulting, brah!" Onscreen, his avatar blinks out of existence, and a note that "HotPantsMullign" has signed off scrolls across the HUD in _Total Revolution’s_ signature old-timey font.

"We play again tomorrow, yes?" Lafayette asks, "we're almost at Yorktown!"

"Yeah, man! I want to finish the campaign this week so I can update my game guide.”

The guide is epically long, and thorough. John isn't even sure who would read it, but he knows that people do, since there's always, people pinging Alex about it whenever he goes online.

"Yorktown, and then we play through the French campaign, oui?” 

Alex hmm’d noncommitally, but Lafayette was already continuing, “Until tomorrow then!"

Lafayette blinks out, and they see the not that "Lancelot1789" has logged off before Alex shuts off the Xbox.

“Thanks again for letting me crash on the couch man,” Laurens grabs the blankets they’d thrown on the back of the couch while they’d played, and starts tucking them down at the end, so they won’t pull up over his feet in the middle of the night. Cold feet are the worst.

Alex grabbing the extra pillows, says, “Hey, I offered you the bed.”

“Not gonna put you out of your own bed,” Laurens replies, “I don’t even know how long it’s gonna take me to find my own place, and you’d miss your bed and kick me out in a week.”

“Who said I wouldn’t be in the bed, too? Have I mentioned it’s king size?” Alex raised his eyebrows lasciviously. 

John threw a pillow.

Alex always flirted. Had done, since the first day John met him at Columbia, with his small pile of bags, and a huge chip on his shoulder, an ego that barely fit in their tiny dorm room, and asked John if they should just skip the awkwardness and push the beds together to save time. Laurens had turned bright red - still does, when Alex turns all the force of his considerable charisma on him - and stammered something. When Hercules had thrown the door open, eager to find someone who would try out the local bars and find one that didn’t card, Laurens felt like he’d been saved. Alex had looked Hercules up and down with the same intense expression, and complimented his skinny jeans in nearly the same tone he’d used on John.

The point is, John knows not to take it seriously, but it still catches him off guard sometimes. He’s never been able to flirt back carelessly, the way that Hercules or Lafayette would, like it doesn’t mean anything.

Alex tosses the pillow back, not gently, “you’re going to need that to sleep asshole,” he says, then turns off the living room lights. He’s still silhouetted against the soft glow from his bedroom when he adds, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, me too.”

___

So, needless to say, John’s first introduction on his first day of working on Washington’s presidential campaign is going well. People around the large office are staring at the confrontation, and John hastily draws back his hand, still outstretched for Angelica to take, and then takes another step back just to be safe.

Angelica angles her chin upwards, spins on her heels and stalks back to her desk in a manner that resembles a victory march more than a retreat. Alex tests his jaw, warily. It’s already beginning to redden.

John winces in sympathy. Alex… well, he had it coming, after he’d published about his affair with the Reynolds on his sock-puppet blog this morning. The somewhat obvious-in-retrospect “Alex Stanton” account that his girlfriend (or her sister) apparently already knew about, and followed. 

Whatever had convinced Alex that confessing his ill-advised polyamorous OkCupid encounters on social media, pseudonym or not, John thought he might be regretting it now. Hell, he hadn’t even asked John if it was a good idea, apparently staying up to write and post it while John was unconscious on the couch.

"She didn't take that well," Alex notes, still eyeing Angelica with a strange glimmer in his eye.

"You wrote a blog post about how you cheated on her sister, how did you think she was gonna take it?"

“Almost cheated! They creeped me out before I got to the sex part, you know, I’m pretty sure I mentioned that part in the post - I think they actually knew I was in politics to start with, they asked all these leading questions,” Alex says bitterly, “Anyway, I’m not sure I Eliza read that far before she dumped me by text.”

If John was less loyal, he would admit it was a pretty amazing break-up text, since it included a snapchat of Eliza burning all of Alex’s shit she had at her place, including the bound copy of his senior thesis.

"You know, it's kind of shitty to pursue someone new when you're still dating someone else? Like you're interested, but not interested enough to risk being single. I could never figure out if Eliza was your back-up for Angelica, or if Angelica was your back-up in case Eliza dumped you--"

"Or," Alex said, looking up at him through his lashes, "I could love both of them. Monogamy is--"

"--a social construct, I know, I know--"

"Angelica is poly!"

"--and Eliza isn't, and instead of talking to them, you got caught up with the Reynolds, and now you can’t have any of them."

Alex winces and rubs his jaw again. "I was just so curious about their dynamic, and the next thing I knew I was messaging them - and I should have talked to her, but she wasn't here! You can't call someone when they're vacationing upstate and ask them to redefine your relationship over the phone."

John frowns, "It would have been better than nothing. Hell, you know how important communication is--"

“Because I never shut up?” Alex shrugs, "We weren't really dating that long, I think we could have been serious eventually, but she’s been so hesitant, saying she doesn’t want a lot of attention..."

"So you’re saying she’s introverted?"

"I'm not saying she's shy--" Alex pauses, "She just approaches things at this really easy-going, take-your-time pace! She can turn off her brain when she wants to relax! I don't get it. I'm not like that! Eliza is fun, and sweet, but I can't talk to her like I can talk to Angelica, or... you.”

“That’s a reason to break up with her, not a reason to screw her over, man. And you did it _online_! Did you see how many hits you got? Who’s gonna want to date you after this?” John isn’t including himself in this assessment, he’s been an idiot over Alex for way too long for even this latest bad behavior to turn him off. Maybe he should be grateful Alex wasn’t really interested.

Alex slumped, head in his arms muttering to himself.

At least he wasn’t quiet. It was never good when Alex got quiet.

"Hey, man, I’m sorry. You’ve still got me, right?"

Alex smirks up at him, “Oh, do I?” he asks, voice flirtatious.

“Give it a rest, Alex,” a deep voice says. John spins to see George Washington standing behind him, “at least put ice on your face before you seduce any more of my staffers.”

“Yes, sir!” Alex says.

“Go now,” Washington prompts.

“Yessir!” Alex repeats, this time bouncing out of his swivel chair and darting off to the break room. John has never seen Alex so… compliant, and respectful. After mouthing off to every professor, getting into actual fights with the college bursar, and losing more than one job to his tendency to talk back, it’s almost disorienting.

And it makes Washington even more impressive than he already seemed from his speeches and interviews.

“He’s probably the best speech writer in politics right now,” Washington muses, “and my campaign wouldn't be where it is without him. But your friend is definitely a handful.”

“John Laurens, sir,” he says, offering his hand.

“George Washington,” his handshake is strong and warm, “but I suppose you knew that, seeing as you agreed to come work for me. Let me tell you a little bit about what I’m hoping to do here, and then we’ll see how you can help out, ok?”

___

"You're having drinks with me," Angelica says flatly, palms flat on the top of his desk so she can loom over him. The clock has just ticked over to 5, but John is still fact-checking some of the claims Jefferson made in the last debate.

"Uh, I am?" He's been under the impression that Angelica dislikes him, partly because he's clearly on Alex's side in their fight, and partly because she usually starts scowling when she's sees him.

In fact, she's scowling right now. This is the most hostile invitation John has ever received.

"Sam Adams on me," Angelica says.

"Yeah, I'm having drinks with you," John says, logging out of the computer, and snatching up his coat.

Then he looks up, feeling the weight of Alex's eyes on him, dark, deep, and sad as a puppy's as he eyes John and Angelica.

"Should we all--"

"No.”

 

“So why’d you invite me out? Not-not that I’m complaining,” the bar was nice, all high wooden beams, green glass, and shining copper accents. There was a decent crowd, but they nabbed stools easily enough, and it wasn't a struggle to get their beer order taken.

"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," Angelica gesturing at John with her drink, and incidentally splashing some of it on his jeans, "and so far I'm unimpressed, except for how you can hold your liquor despite being so little."

“I’m still on my third, it’s not that impressive,” John protests, “...wait, I’m not ‘little.’ either!”

“I don’t think I would be overstating it to say that he pined for you, you know?” Angelica continues, “I thought it was cute, how he’d go off talking about his ‘college roommate in England,’ or how excited he’d get when you texted him.”

John flushes red, hoping Angelica will mistake the multiple pints of beer for the cause, but her eyes pin him. 

“And then he shows up with you yesterday, I can see exactly fucking why he’s torching his relationship with my sister just from the look on his stupid face.”

“Wait, you think it’s _my_ fault? I was still in England two weeks ago when he got caught up with those… with the Reynolds!” Part of why he agreed to his father’s persuasion to study in England was because of how worried his father had been that Alex was a bad influence on him. He wasn’t, obviously, and John thinks he’s proved that… mostly. But it stung when people said it was the other way around, too, that _he_ was bad for _Alex_...

Angelica pushes her curls back over her shoulder and leans forward, “Exactly. Weeks ago, but does he say anything? Not until he has you all bundled up in his lair,” she finished, thumping the table.

“Hey--”

“I’m not some kind of - of diabolical homewrecker!’

Angelica stares at him flatly, and then laughs, “you are fucking adorable, is what you are. ‘My friend John’s written an incredible article on police brutality! My college roommate is protesting in London this weekend! Did you know John started a social justice movement on twitter?’” she says, mimicking Alex’s voice, “He said a lot of things about you, but not that you’re completely oblivious.”

“Look, I’m not oblivious,” he says, and maybe it’s the beers, but he finally admits it, “I know how I feel about Alex, ok? I know,” he buries his face in hands, cheeks hot against his palms, “but I wasn’t trying to get him to dump your sister, I swear.”

“Oh, honey,” her voice is suddenly sympathetic, “that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what?”

“I’m saying - ugh, nevermind. This is hopeless--”

“Hey!”

“I’d rather make out with Aaron Burr than help you with your love life. Which brings me to our real problem.”

“Oh God,” John prays, not seeing how anything can be worse than what they’d already discussed.

“Aaron Burr.”

“Oh,” John blinks, “Yeah, ok.”

“I get it. He’s a disgusting little turncoat. He left Washington’s campaign, and fucking switched parties to help Jefferson, of all people. But Alex publically baiting him does not help.”

“Pretty sure it makes Alex feel better,” John says. It made him feel better, too, to be completely honest. Burr had never liked it when Alex “wasted his time” on John’s causes. He knew it was because Burr thought he was less intelligent, too rowdy, selfishly dragging Alex’s laser focus away from academia or politics or whatever and towards better causes. Maybe they'd been arrested once or twice at protests, and maybe that campus sit-in hadn't been the best idea, but John still resented the way that Burr would shake his head smugly every time they got into trouble.

“Presidential campaigns are not run on _good feels_. You need to get him to stop calling Burr out before Burr does something drastic.”

“What do you mean?”

Angelica swipes at her phone, and then shows him her twitter app, where - fuck - Burr is rounding off a dozen exchanges with Hamilton with a sly accusation that, if the Reynolds are what Alex admits to, there must be far worse things hidden, by both Alex, and Washington’s campaign.

“Ok, Burr’s the worst, but he’s not going to shoot Alex or anything.”

“Are you sure? Because Burr has never struck me as entirely stable,” Angelica replies, drawing a target in the condensation ring from her beer.

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously. But he absolutely would take out his issues with Alex on our campaign. He’s responsible for most of the media and advertising on Jefferson’s campaign, so if he decides that he wants to start mud-slinging, things is going to ugly fast. And I'm not willing to let that happen.”

“What do you think I can do about it?” John bursts out, “I’m not exactly friends with Burr, either! He only ever spoke to me when we were at Columbia to shut me down in lectures.”

“Just remind your boy to stop and think every once in awhile,” Angelica says. She opens her wallet and drops a few bills on the bar, before standing, “it’s not my job anymore.”

___

alt=”A dot Ham twitter post: .@AaronBurr is almost better at selling out than that new Broadway smash hit everyone is talking about.”

John checks twitter on the bus on the way back to the apartment, and sees the latest fusillade in Alex’s campaign against Burr. He sighs, leaning against the window, and staring out at the bright lights of the city flashing past, he wonders if Angelica wasn’t right after all. 

 

“You’re home!” Alex says, looking surprised when he walks in. His voice is slurring just a little, which means that he’s incredibly drunk. The bottle of whiskey on the table indicates that it was a solo party.

“Yeah, of course I am.”

“I thought maybe you and Angelica…” 

“Nah, man, I’m gay, remember?” John points out, “and I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You can say it so easily now,” Alex says wonderingly, his eyes misty.

“Ok,” John says slowly, and takes the whiskey away. Maybe he should pour it out?

“You were so worried about disappointing your dad, you know? But it’s better just to say it. I never had a dad to disappoint, it was easier for me. But then I disappointed _your_ dad, and then you left, and--”

John sets the bottle of whiskey down on the counter, and turns back to Alex, “hey, hey, don’t worry about that right now,” he says soothingly, putting his arm around Alex’s shoulder, “he was disappointed in my choices - you know he didn't like bailing me out jail that time.”

“He bailed us both out,” Alex points out sadly.

John bit his lip. He forgot that part, but it was true. Alex didn't have parents - or foster parents after he turned 18 - to help bail him out, or his now insane stock portfolio back then. 

Maybe that explained how his father had taken such a 180 on all John’s friendships after he graduated. Even if Alex had always been scrupulously well behaved around his father, his father was always prone thinking John was a saint, getting dragged around by various bad influences.

“Whatever it was that happened, it's water under the bridge. And I'm independent now anyway, I didn't have to ask for permission to come work with you.” John says. It's the truth in the strictest sense. His father wasn’t thrilled, and needed some persuasion, ... and embarrassingly insisted on talking to Washington, but, well. John would have come anyway, to see Hamilton again. 

“So you don't think I'm bad for you?” Alex says. He still has some whiskey in his tumbler, and he drinks it before John can think to take the glass. Maybe the sliver of alcohol remaining gave him the drive to ask the question. Of all the thousand things they talk about, their friendship isn't one of them. 

If Alex is bad for him, John thought Angelica, and Burr before her, made a decent argument that John is just as bad for Alex in turn. But John had tasted life without Alex in England, and he hadn't like it. Looking back, he doesn't recognize the John that just went through the motions of graduate school. England felt like a flat landscape painting with a tight bordered frame around it. There were no protests, or impassioned speeches, no midnight adventures to Central Park, no splashing in fountains without Alex.

I think maybe you're the best thing that ever happened to me, he doesn't say. Instead he brushes the moment aside, “you're probably somewhere on the scale between my useless liberal arts major, and that time I thought I could do a kegstand. Don't worry about it.”

Alex frowns up at him squinting, “I'm being serious.”

“Serious and drunk is a bad combination, man. I mean, I was gonna talk to you about Burr, but clearly it is bedtime for you, buddy.”

“Hate that guy. He was ok in school, and I put up with him for Washington, but now--”

“Let me take care of Burr for you, ok?” John says, steering Alex down the hall towards his bedroom.

“But…”

“If he’s trying to mess with you, _and_ my boss, then he’s my problem, too, right?” John coaxes, “you just need to write more amazing speeches for Washington, make sure he wins this.”

“Yeah, ok,” Alex says, drowsy and agreeable as he climbs into bed. He holds the covers back for John, but John folds them back down, stern in the face of Alex’s pathetic expression.

___

“Alex, how’s that speech coming?” Washington’s voice booms across the office.

John sees Alex wince, but his voice is bright when he says, “you’ll have the draft by the end of the day, sir!”

“That’s my man!” Washington calls back, and then he’s marching off to rally the coffee.

John passes Alex some tylenol.

 

Alex is still furiously typing away at his speech come 5 PM, but he has a manic, far away look in his eyes that means, one, that there’s no interrupting him, and two, that the speech is going to be amazing when he does finish. Washington sees it too, because he looks smug, instead of irritated at the day, and dismisses John with a cheerful wave. 

 

He logs onto to Total Revolution to explain the delay to Lafayette and Hercules, who take the news philosophically - they know there’s no stopping Alex when he gets locked into writing. It was the same during finals in college, except with less sleep. 

“We could do player versus player,” Lafayette suggests, hopefully.

“PVP? You just like beating all the other teams,” Hercules says.

“Yes, that is exactly what I enjoy,” Lafayette replies, like he’s surprised it even needs to be said.

“I could blow off some steam,” John adds, “I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about Hamilton’s twitter feud with Burr, and at this point, I think I need a false sense of accomplishment from wasting digital people before I beat my head against the wall anymore.”

“What’s going on?” Hercules asks excitedly, “are we fighting Burr?”

“I forgot you don’t have twitter--”

“--do you know how much personal information you give away when you tweet everything you do?”

“Yes,” Lafayette cuts in, “because you only tell us all the time. You will need to tell him, Laurens.”

“So, what do I do about Burr?” He asks, once he's finished explaining the whole story.

Lafayette sounds bloodthirsty, “could we have him killed?”

Hercules’ voice crackles as he yells in the speaker, “Fuck you, man, for the last time, I'm not CIA, I'm a _tailor_.”

“That is not a no,” Lafayette points out.

“No,” John says, “No killing.”

“You are misunderstanding me. I have seen his name in the game forums, you can kill his digital avatar with impunity.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“He has no imagination for names, and of course uses his own,” Lafayette says disparagingly, “also, I asked.”

“Actually,” Laurens says, “that’s not a bad idea.”

When they log in at 7, they Alex, John, and Angelica find “GeneralWhee,” “VirginiaPride,” and “AaronBurr” waiting for them. Alex, his speech finished, consulted with Lafayette on strategy all day, while Angelica spent her time in the forums trying to catch hints of Burr’s play style.

John had kept his head down and focused on his work, since he was new, and not so beloved by Washington that he wouldn’t get fired for causing trouble. 

And Washington was less than impressed at his method of de-escalating combat. “There’s a reason we don’t still duel people over insults,” he said, and then assigned John a huge stack of forms to complete. 

Now, he wishes he’d done something to prepare, because for all it’s the same game he’s been playing for weeks, the stakes are real this time. And he’s always found PVP less predictable than their usual cooperative campaigns.

 

The battle is fierce and long, in-game time ticking away at a fast pace, dawn making way to dim sunset while night fell beyond the apartment windows.

John’s health is dangerously low. He was blindsided by canon fire early in the match, and came out the worse for a quick exchange of fire with VirginiaPride.

Since then, stealth and good aim has kept him going, but his situation is precarious. At least if he can take out someone from the other team before going down...

So John crouches across the field, methodically stripping away the last vestiges of GeneralWhee’s health bar with each painfully slow reloading of his musket. 

GeneralWhee’s avatar is finally toppling in defeat when he sees Alex breaking position to come face to face with Burr, only a few feet away. The standoff isn't part of their strategy, John isn't sure why Alex isn't taking cover, and there's no chatter on his headset to explain it either.

It's one of those moments where his immersion in the game draws a veil over the real world. He's creeping towards the two men, behind this rock, past this shrub - eyes fixed on Alex, until he forgets that Alex - the tangible, breathing Alex - is still safe, right beside him. 

This is probably what makes him overreact when he sees Burr aim. 

John doesn’t even think, he dives in front of Alex.

The recoil of Burr’s shot in his shoulder sends his avatar wheeling back, the image onscreen tilting wildly to show a pink streaked sky. But his own shot has goes off before he falls, and he sees Burr fall too, his avatar sprawling in the dirt.

“No!” Alex cries, his face fixed on the screen. John looks over to see what's happening, if the remaining teammate, VirginiaPride has done something, but he just sees his avatar, dead, with an appalling amount of gore for a game that isn't rated M.

“Hey,” John says, putting down his controller and touching Alex's shoulder to ground him in the present. He isn't prepared for Alex to shudder, drop his own controller, and then hurl himself at John, until John is tucked into his body, face pressed against Alex’s shoulder.

“Uh,” he says, baffled.

“You can't - I don’t know what I’d do without you, don’t do that ever again, not for real.

Angelica curses, there's a furious exchange of gunfire, and she's crowing, “take that, Virginia,” but Alex isn't at all distracted.

“I know I flirt with you, and you never say anything, and maybe it’s a dick move on part to keep doing it when I know you don’t feel that way,” Alex says, speaking so fast, there’s no gap in his words to interrupt, even if Laurens wants to - and he’s not sure he does, “you always seemed to think it was funny at least, so I told myself I wasn’t making you uncomfortable, but you _know_ I love you, you have to by now, and I can’t - I can’t take seeing you die like that - even if it’s not real. I know it’s not real.”

He finally runs out of steam, and waits, staring down at John helplessly.

“Sweet Jesus,” Burr’s voice comes faintly from the speakers.

“I can’t even,” Angelica says, “I’m logging these two fuckers off, but I want it on the record that we won, assholes.”

“I’m not even sure what the stakes were?” a befuddled voice that sounds distinctly like James Madison, Jefferson’s running mate, asks distantly.

“I didn’t really think you were serious,” John says faintly, only noticing peripherally that Angelica is turning off the XBox and collecting her things.

“I asked you out the first day we met!” 

“And then you asked out three other people, man, what was I supposed to think? I've been in love with you for eight years! You couldn’t have cleared this up before now?”

“You were in England for some of those years,” Alex says, flushing.

“It beat pining up close,” John shrugs. He can feel his own face heating up, “in theory anyway. I just missed you more, so…”

“You really love me,” Alex says musingly, “can we finally share a bed now?”

 

Later, John would day he couldn't believe it took dying to get Alex to tell him how he felt. 

Later, Alex would say he couldn't believe it took dying for John to believe him. 

 

___

Epilogue:

Burr and Alex don’t stop tweeting at each other, but the tone is more cordial, approaching mature, and neither of them address the campaign, even as the poll numbers widen between the candidates and Washington takes the lead. 

**Author's Note:**

> I had only a general idea of what Hamilton was when I got your assignment, and thought it couldn't hurt to listen to the soundtrack to see what the fuss was about. Weeks later, I'm weeping over the soundtrack, and petting my Playbill like it's the One Ring, so thanks for that. Writing this story is the least I can do to repay you, TwistAndShout! I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
